For whom the bell tolls

Well, the time of reckoning has arrived like a death toll.

A week of endless empty monotony awaits.

Will I live to tell the tale? (Wait a minute, why would anyone even want to hear the tale?)

*Sighhhhh*

And here I was trying to cultivate the image that I actually had a life. Phish phosh, that’s down the drain.
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The gym, the gym, it will be my salvation!...but that’s a story for another time. *wink* (And seeing as I have nothing else to do, it’ll probably be soon. Heh.)

Turbulence

It's a gift and curse. I can always read people.

And when you say "I trust even you don’t want to know.." I get the distinct impression (in fact I’m bloody fucking sure) that, that is precisely what you want me to do: to want to know.

I'm divided. On one hand, as a friend, I'd like to help, to listen. But on the other, aware of the circumstances, I don't want to get involved, to avoid the complications just waiting on the sidelines to happen.

Damn. I’ve been in this situation before. The other one ended badly, for me. But this time there’s soo much more to lose and I’m not just talking about our friendship.

Why am I a magnet for people in throes of trouble?
Do I look like the Dalai Lama or something?
Why is it, even though they know that I’m the last person they should be asking, they still throw caution and propriety to the wind and do just that?

Desperation? No one else to turn to? I know, I know damnit.
That’s why I’m soo divided. Because I’m afraid, if not for me, then you would have no one else.

PS: For the sake of peace and calm I must say (though I’d really rather I didn’t have to) that this post is absolutely NOT about anyone who visits this space.

Still not a feminist

An email from a ‘fan’:

Since you follow the F1, was wondering if you knew the issue right now with regards to the F1 races where they are thinking of bringing in women drivers. And what’s more interesting is that the loser team Minardi is actually going to introduce one women driver into the F1 circuit. Well I guess after Alex anything is worth a shot.
Anyway in the SUN papers today Jenson Button actually commented on this issue and the following were his remarks:
- women drivers maybe to big to fit into the F1 cockpit
- one week in a month they wont be able to race or imagine any driver wanting to race them during the period
- the mechanics would face problems strapping them in (boobs) and would not be able to concentrate
What’s your opinion?

The wise one replies (Me-lah who else??!!):

Firstly I'm embarrassed to say I didn't even know there was a ruling against or for women drivers. Honestly, the lack of women drivers never even crossed my mind. (Now I have to go off in a corner and start pondering why it never occurred to me, because that's strange don't you think?)

So anyway, I'm delighted to find that there are actually pretty good (according to the papers) women drivers out there. And so if this will mark their foray into a male dominated circuit, then more power to them. I seriously think gender is a non issue when it comes to excelling on a level playing field. People shouldn't care what gender the drivers are as long as they're damn good at what they do. And for the record, this opinion doesn't just apply to F1 driving.

As for 'structural' differences, this is just silly. It reflects more on him than the women he seems to have a grudge against. Personally, it sounds like Button is very intimidated by more competition coming his way that he has to fall back on anatomy and biological makeup to protect his turf from intrusion. As such I won't even justify his dinosaur-mentality comments with a rebuttal.
PS: All together now, "Button sucks, Raikkonen's ma man!"

The not-soo-angry feminist

I was in a sewing shop just now accompanying a colleague who wanted to purchase something or rather. While in the shop I couldn’t help feeling a sense of forced feminity and girlishness, of docile domestication, homeliness and other unmentionables. I couldn’t help feeling soo out of place among the cross-stitches, knitting needles, balls of yarn and rows upon rows of colourful thread, sequins and beads. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of the above, hell, I even used quite a number of them as a kid. But somehow, now, all of it smacks of stereotypical female occupations: a reinforcement of an arcane female ideal. And try as I may, I find it hard not to be somewhat scornful (oh, this is too strong a word) of women who indulge in these pastimes. It appears as if I’m making a case for feminism, which is not my intention at all. I really mean no offense though it may seem otherwise. But it’s just that I don’t fit this particular pigeon hole.

On the flip side, I love the veritable Aladdin’s cave that is hardware shops. The intoxicating smell of leather, shelves of every imaginable glistening steel implement and contraptions and tins of industrial chemicals. There’s just so much to pick up, tinker with and marvel over. Unfortunately the downside is dealing with hardware store owners and salesmen. I happen to be the wrong gender you see, and I couldn’t make it anymore obvious if I walked in with a sign plastered to my forehead that said, “I’m a girl, cheat me, I’m dumb”. Not only do you get disbelieving looks because you’re a girl, saying you’re “Just browsing” to inquisitive macho men doesn’t stop them from following you around gawking and snorting under their breath at such a highly amusing oddity.

There was once I frequented one particular hardware shop soo regularly that the owner began to greet me warmly like a favourite daughter. Heh. But it sure didn’t stop him from trying to con me out of my money though. Men, sheesh!

The Yellow Brick Road

Future plans: it seems everyone has some idea where they’re headed, or if they don’t at least they have their future acquisitions all mapped out and carefully budgeted for. Car at 23, house at 26, marriage to the nice boy next door at 27, 2.5 kids (carefully spaced out, naturally) by 32, the insurance plan, retirement investment plan, children’s education fund, the requisite local and overseas holidays, all efficiently planned years in advance.

Woe be anyone who doesn’t have a ‘plan’ much less a clue where their lives are headed, what they want and how they’re going to get it. The horrified pitying looks that follow such a foolishly brave announcement would be enough to make you want to repent remorsefully before you quietly do yourself away so you wouldn’t have to inflict anyone else with your directionless existence.

Sometimes I wonder how many out there make up all the stuff people want to hear just to quell the questions and patronizing concern for their welfare. How many purposefully lie just to seem not soo utterly lost?

PS: Two things:

1. This is too heavy for the weekend, I apologise.

2. And I'm not as depressed as I sound.

Psychedelic baby!

“I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er,
I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldi-er….”

All these things that I’ve done – (Hot Fuss) The Killers

Instructions for use: Sing line repeatedly, starting out soft and building till reaching a completely soul-satisfying screaming crescendo. Accompanying head shaking, furious air drums action and feet stomping also highly recommended. Heh. Therapeutic this.

PS: I can’t help thinking that this is exactly how The Beatles would sound if they were from this era, complete with hysterical, swooning, and much hotter female fans of course (but yet somehow still managing to be cool enough for the guys).

Future soo bright I gotta wear shades

Your face is your fortune. It’s written in the stars, on the lines of your palm and apparently also in your choice of a favorite cloud in the sky. I kid you not.

A good friend of mine visited a fortune teller for the first time recently. We’d discussed the possibility of doing this before just to satisfy our curiosity eventhough both of us are born sceptics. We’d both hesitated and put off doing so because even if we knew enough to take everything with a healthy pinch of salt, we weren’t sure we’d be able to withstand the power of suggestion and that seed of doubt that would linger on.

So anyway, she did it for fun and because not only was the “Mythologist”, as he calls himself, highly recommended, but he also speaks perfect English. This is handy especially if you don’t want a lot of things lost in translation. We’d all like our money’s worth and let’s face it, fortune telling is already vague as it is without the further complication of language.

For obvious reasons, I can’t reveal what he told her, but she came out not that much wiser about her future then when she went in. She had a few words of advice though. When faced with a fortune teller, do try to reign in the scepticism and keep your expressions bland. These people are attuned to body language and this will affect what and how much they tell you. And the other thing was, to get the most ‘benefit’, it’d probably be a good idea to seek a consultation only when you have pressing need, like for example when you’re at some crossroads of life. Otherwise you’d have nothing to ask him and whatever he’d say would carry no weight and very little meaning.

Now for a little experiment you can try at home. If the top tip of your ear is aligned to the end of your eyebrow and the bottom is aligned to the top of your upper lip, then you are destined for greatness. Of course if you have an asymmetrical face like mine, this begs the question: which ear? Or must it be both? These are questions you must ask the next face reader you meet, ‘cos I sure as hell don’t know! Heh, that’s another career choice down the drain...

On a serious and much too personal note..

I am different. I can’t explain it. The other day it just hit me: for the first time I have my eyes wide open. For once the road ahead though vague, appears to be devoid of obstacles, be they the ones I set up for myself or the ones that have been put there by prior circumstance. I realize that in all previous times I was never happy. Instead, what there was, was a whole load of anxiety and a distinct sense of futile hope.

This time round I’m aware of the constant need and the application of conscious will to not play mind games. A need to be honest, to be unafraid to say what I mean and what I feel, nevermind the consequences. And all of this while feeling like I’m voluntarily plunging headlong into the unknown despite being completely aware of clear and present danger. That’s right, for once I’m acting like there’s nothing to lose.

I used to be soo careful with my pride, doling out affection only to the exact measure of the amount I received. To show too much was a carnal sin, a sign of weakness, an acknowledgement of someone else’s power over me. And in an atmosphere where control was paramount, I never invested more than what was clinically appropriate.

Looking back, I know why I am exactly where I am now. I did this. But can this change last? Can I swallow my pride and take the chance? Can I suppress the urge to run for my life? I know I said it was a joke, but yes, what else can I be, but afraid?

(And meanwhile at the back of my mind, the resounding voice of reason cautions, “It’s too fast, slow down”.)

expectant hush

A sea of endless calm,
As far as the eye can see,
As long as memory can stretch.

Softly,
A ripple runs through
Gently,
The boat rocks
Tentatively,
The slumbering sailor,
stirs.

What is this shifting?
..swishing, ..rolling,
..tossing, ..turning,
..churning?

and in the horizon,
the Eye of the Storm,
approaches…

Disclaimer: I don't know why I feel the need to write a disclaimer. Well, actually, I do. I thought I'd be embarassed at its childish simplicity (mission accomplished: I am). But then I wondered why should I be soo bothered? Let it be. At the very least it is honest.

Cheetahs

Sociable?
Not exactly. Only the males, often brothers, roam and hunt in a coalition of 2 or 3. Rarely will they live alone. This is in contrast to the females who are solitary except when they have litter. Males and females mix only to mate. As such the female raises her cubs alone.

Biologically engineered for speed
Classic example of nature and adaptation at it’s finest.
The cheetah is the fastest land animal in the world with a top speed of 110km/hr. You think that’s fast? Even 5 month old cheetah cubs can easily outrun almost any other adult carnivore! Though a member of the cat family, it differs in many ways from the big cats like lions, tigers, leopards and panthers which rely on brute strength to hunt and overpower its prey.

Cheetahs rely purely on speed. And to achieve such blinding speed the cheetah has a highly adapted structure. It is the only member of the cat family that has non-retractable claws. This blunts the claws and makes them ineffective for attacking prey, but highly useful in providing traction to the cheetah during the chase. Its heavy tail acts as a rudder and the flexible backbone as a spring. The cheetah’s light, lean frame is attributed to thin bones and during the chase the cheetah is at times completely airborne with none of its paws touching the ground.

All this speed comes at a price, and so to accommodate the increase in oxygen intake, the cheetah has large nasal passages, a large heart and adrenal glands to support high metabolism. The large nasal passages leave precious little space for the cheetah’s small teeth and jaw. As such once the cheetah outruns its prey, it clamps onto the neck and suffocates its victim before consuming it.

Strength vs Speed
The cheetah is very vulnerable once it has captured its prey after a high speed chase. The intense effort expanded leaves the cheetah in exhaustion and if it is to savour the spoils of its victory, it must eat quickly. The slight cheetah is no match for the much bigger, heavier predators like the lions and hyenas. Even a pack of vultures can easily oust the cheetah and steal away the prize.

Cub Mortality
In the wild, cheetah cub mortality rate can reach as high as 90%. The main predators are lions and hyenas. In fact it’s been shown that lions kill cheetah cubs as a matter of course. They don’t eat them, they just kill them. Researchers have yet to find a reason for this phenomenon. And it doesn’t help that the females being the sole parent are forced to leave their cubs in search of food.

And now another fun fact you can take away with you: Ever wondered what the difference is between the leopard and the cheetah? Same colouring, both cats, right?. Well, the cheetah is easily identifiable by its characteristic black "tear mark" running from the inner aspect of each eye down to the mouth. Oh, and the leopard’s much heavier, remember strength vs. speed and agility?


PS: Alright, alright, if you insist: I watched a documentary, found it riveting and decided it was my duty to educate the world!....or maybe just the two of you. Oh, nevermind! Anyway I hope you found it as educational and as much fun as I did. Cheetahs rule!

Love Thy Neighbour

Can someone please kill my neighbours?

(No, no, this is not yet another Malaysian rant against Singapore. Sorry to disappoint.)

And just to get the logistics right for those who want to heed this distress call, plus seeing as murder ain’t no child’s play, they live directly opposite me and are LOUD. Tonight more so than others. They’ve been having some big ass party and as if it isn’t enough to block off the entire street, they and their guests have conveniently opened tables and parked their backsides in front of their neighbours gates effectively blocking off our exit routes. Damn them all to hell!

And the howling, good God the howling. And squealing, and screeching. Yup folks, that’s right, they have that perennial Malaysian weapon of mass torture: karaoke. And my do they wield it with abandon. I’ve had to seek refuge by plugging in my earphones and blasting classical music. And yet, and yet, in the background, I can still hear their sweet voices.

Could I plead just cause if I went over there and wrung their necks? Something’s got to be done, they’re effectively keeping us prisoners at their pleasure while we writhe in agony. Huh? Huh? Could I? Could I?

And besides it’s just not neighbourly to have a party and NOT invite your neighbours.

That’s right, all that alcohol and I’m not invited. I demand justice!
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Update: It’s past midnight and they’ve subsided without blood on my hands. Thank God for small mercies. I’m going to sleep.

AA: The Joys of Alcohol and Altitude

You know something’s not right up there when you suddenly have to go up to Genting at midnight, on a weekday, in your Japanese slippers and ratty clothes (hey! It was a spur of the moment thing ok?) just to shiver while drowning a bucket of beer through chattering teeth. Heh.

I have nothing to say for myself by way of logical excuse except that somehow the road just lead there and um, alcohol is a force greater than myself?

You know what the funny thing is? There were a lot of other jokers who were doing the exact same thing, there was actually traffic going up and on the way down. Who are these people and don’t they ever sleep or need to go to work the next day or something? I tell you, youngsters these days..

Oh, did I forget to add that I had a hell of a time? There’s just something about those roads winding through the mountains, soo pitch black that you have to turn on your high beam just to manoeuvre. Then there’s the icy early morning wind blowing in from your rolled down windows and the magnificent sight of millions of tiny twinkling fairy lights down in the sleeping valley. *Sigh*

Must try not to get too fond of these impromptu jaunts though, have you seen the prices at Genting lately?! Are they trying to make us pay for the natural air-conditioning or what?

And now excuse me while I try to sneak a snooze at my desk, crawling in at 4am is too much for this aging spring chicken.

Life: Not an exact science

I was watching this series on TV the other day. It’s not a bad family drama that I follow on and off. The main protagonist had been having one of those recurring what-if dreams where your life turns out exactly picture perfect. He agonizes over it because he felt that it meant that the way his life had turned out would always be inferior to the happiness of his “perfect” dream life. He confides in a friend who is of the wry opinion that “dreams are dumpsites for neurological waste” and goes on to tell him that trying to find meaning in dreams is like trying to avert unpredictable tragedy, that life happens: we’re grateful when it goes well and count our blessings when it doesn’t.

But what I loved most is the ending sequence where he finally gets to see his dream to its unexpected conclusion. He’s amazed to find that his seemingly perfect life is ultimately very flawed and as imperfect and difficult as his current reality is, he’s lucky to have just that. That in spite of tragedy or because of it, he’d gained and become soo much more than his “perfect” life would have afforded.

Could it be that we struggle soo much with regret, and that we second guess our choices every single time because unlike him we don’t have the benefit of seeing how our desired what-if scenario pans out?

God knows the last thing I want to do is sound preachy, but I guess what I’m trying to say is we don’t have to beat ourselves up when things go wrong, because in another place and time, wrong might have been what we needed all along. And in the end like a light bulb going off in our heads, we might just see why it was all necessary.

Maybe

Maybe we should stop trying to figure out life.

Maybe what we need is to find escape from the mental and physical paralysis that comes from over analyzing, from the constant need to pick apart every little insignificant detail in an ultimately futile attempt to elicit meaning from the utter randomness that is life.

Maybe all we need to survive is gut feel and a quick prayer that we don’t get into to much shit.

Maybe what we need is to close our eyes, draw a deep breath and Take.That.Leap.

Charm School

I was on a rare visit to a client’s office where I had to register at the guard house before entering the premises. I should have known something was amiss when I found the young-ish pak guard minutely scrutinizing me as I wrote down my name in the visitor log.

A polite cough later he said:
“Excuse me Miss, correct me if I’m mistaken, you’re not Malay are you?”

I flashed what I hoped was a dismissive stop-all-friendly-overtures-NOW quick smile and said:
“No.”

Then out of nowhere as I turn to go he says with an impish grin:
“Your face is true beauty”

Only presence of mind and iron self-control stopped me from bursting into wild laughter.

He made my day...ok, ok, make that my week. But I can’t help feeling sorry for him, after all, he must have really bad eyesight.

Office air-con technicians, the balding pakcik at the neighborhood sundry shop, the waiter at the corner mamak shop where we have after work yum char sessions and now: security guards.

I’m quite the charmer I am.

KL: Proceed with extreme caution

I made the death defying foray into the hell hole that is KL last week. That’s right, I drove there. Yikes!

While PJ isn’t exactly paradise on earth it tends to be a little less frightening than KL somehow. And have you ever noticed how the number of motorcycles increase exponentially the nearer you get to the city centre? It’s those crazy jams I tell you, everyone’s finding a way to cut the time and money lost when you’re stuck in one. But if there’s one thing car owners fear more than traffic jams on the roads, it’s those damned motorcycles. I mean if you’ve ever had the bad luck to have an accident with one, you’ll know that no matter whose fault it is you’re automatically done for, in terms of paying for damages that is.

So there I was, trying to stay clear of those motorcycles, but in KL, that’s pretty hard to do with the sheer proliferation of them. You need every ounce of concentration in your body, extra pairs of eyes on the back of your head and perhaps on your elbows too for good measure. And still, my once in a blue moon trip in had 2 motorcycles grazing each other at high speed right next to me, causing one’s carrier box to rip off with a flying piece bouncing off the roof of this already rattled drivers car.

Holy guacamole! Next time I’m taking public transportation!